Atomic Alphabet Soup
by massivelyattacked
Summary: Not all who wander are lost; she is unfortunately not one of those lucky few. An alphabet-based tale of one former vault-dweller - newly homeless - as she searches for her father in the Capital Wasteland.
1. A is for Anticipation

**Yeah, I know. I have so many other stories on the go that I should finish first. But the muse wants what the muse wants. And the muse wants Fallout. I recently found myself back in the Fallout universe, this time F3, and so - voila. Story.**

**I promise I will continue with the Elder Scrolls stories...and eventually get back to some Dragon Age work as well.**

**But until then, I will be working my way through the alphabet for one woman's journey out of the vault and into the wasteland in search of her father and more importantly, her place in the world. I don't know where this one's headed really, so hope you enjoy the ride as much as I'm hoping to.**

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**_A is for Anticipation_**

It was strange, really. The sensation of actual, real, natural light hitting one's own retinae for the first time; it was strange. Yet, even for all the unfamiliarity of the brightness, she couldn't close her eyelids. She couldn't shut herself away from this new, wondrous feeling.

The adjustment process was slow. _Two decades in artificial light_, she considered. It was a wonder she could see shapes at all. Gradually…so gradually…the forms and features making up her sightline became solid. Somewhat recognizable, even; at least in decayed versions from images in the books she pored over during her tenuous years of education.

Glancing towards the all-too-familiar green glow of the screen belonging to the device fastened securely to her wrist, she rotated the knobs, as if instinctually. For the first time, the map displayed on the screen actually meant something. She knew the vault's layout; it was difficult not to know considering her tenure as a resident. Even the places she shouldn't have known about were plotted in her memories from so many rounds of hide and seek in those years before childhood gave way to adolescence – and the death of such silliness.

All of this, however, was new. The landscape before her; the _vegetation, was it?_ The massive constructed _things_ off in the distance. And the concept of direction.

_Head down to the reactor room. Meet me in the atrium. Hurry; get to the classroom before Mr. Brotch marks you late again!_ None of these rooms would have any importance again. No, now only direction would help find her way through the vast wasteland that stretched out as far as she could see. And that distance grew as her eyes continued to adjust to the newfound illumination.

She suddenly realized that she'd been standing on a cliff; completely in awe of the alien countryside. The books she'd read did no justice to the sheer immensity she could see. The vault was finite; it had walls to confine its residents to safety, yet for all she couldn't see, it was as if she could walk on forever. And that reminded her exactly why she found herself in the position she stood in at that moment.

_Father!_

She had no idea where he could have headed. Even if she knew of a name, she certainly knew nothing of how to find it. To the south, there appeared great stone structures – remnants of _a highway_, if she recalled her studies of the past well enough. Yet the path was incomplete, as portions of the structure had collapsed to the ground below. To the east, though seemed to be the remains of some sort of settlement or at least it once was. _What was it called again? A…town?_ She shook her head – it didn't matter what it was called. It _had_ to be the location referred to on the Overseer's terminal. It _had_ to be Springvale. And it looked remarkably well considering its remains stood two hundred years after the Great War. Though one thing it did not appear to be was inhabited.

Her eyes traveled further south and fell upon a strange structure; an assembled jumble of various metal pieces jutting out into the sky. She tried desperately to recall the images found on the Overseer's computer of the town known as Megaton. It could be that place, and that meant it could be a place to ask for her father's whereabouts. With any luck, he could still be there.

Peering over the cliff, she decided against scrambling down the sharp-edged rocks to the remains of the road below. The sign indicated it was a scenic overlook, but certainly not a safe passage. No matter; a short path descended in the direction she wished to head mere steps away. She followed the path and then the road towards Springvale, awestruck at the sights that met her eyes.

History class certainly did not prepare her for what she saw. Some of the books taught her the names of such things as houses, mailboxes, cars and trees. Still others taught her of playgrounds and slides and swings and see-saws. She walked close to the buildings, her fingers sliding along the textures that the homes were comprised of. The smooth wooden panels placed horizontally once protected the buildings from the elements; though now, did nothing. Some of the houses sat on properties that were lined with white, wooden pieces…_fence_ was the word that came to mind quickest. She wondered how such tiny barricades of wood could have kept _anything _out. And how odd it would have been to have had a house; a place for her family, all on its own. Not connected to the homes of others…not joined by the dimly lit corridors of the vault. With windows and doors that actually opened to the outside world. Some of the houses had pretty patterns peeking out of the broken walls; they decorated the interior with flowers and stripes and polka dots. She tried to imagine a time where the functional metal walls and lockers could have been replaced by such things.

And then, she saw it. A large, hand-painted sign with an arrow indicating the way to Megaton.

The desire to explore had quickly been replaced by a feeling of the unknown. What would she find in Megaton? Would her father be there? Would it become her new home? Could she survive in this wasteland she suddenly found herself a part of?

She refused to put the future off any longer – her feet set her on a path to the settlement that she hoped held answers to so many of her questions. She marked the point where two main roads met on her map, dubbing them Springvale – whether it was or wasn't. As she took one final look back towards the direction of the vault's entrance, she sighed loudly and turned south.

"I'm coming, dad."


	2. B is for Barter

**So here's the thing. Back when I was writing some of the earlier chapters for **_**The Girl with the Voice**_**, I was accused of plagiarism of another Skyrim story. The whole subject still irks me to this day, and I have taken up a new policy: no reading of other fanfic that's anywhere near what I'm writing (unless the author insists). I bring this up because one of the first authors I befriended when I started writing Dragon Age stories has recently started her own Fallout fic – and despite how much I want to read it right now, I will have to wait until I'm finished writing my own. So, Nevara, I will get to it…just not right away. ;)**

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_**B is for Barter**_

The voice drifted on the wind in such a manner that she heard it before she could see who – or in this case, what – it came from. The sound was metallic…tinny…hollow. There was no way that it could be human; but more importantly, was it friend or foe?

She crept slowly as the terrain rose ahead of her; dust blew across her face and into her eyes. It made approaching stealthily degrees more difficult. Still, she managed to maintain a level of silence as she continued forward. She finally caught a glimpse of the _thing_ calling out its random greetings to whoever would hear them. Her focus became singular and she did not remove her eyes from the robot guarding the settlement entrance behind it; so much so that she nearly tripped over the grizzled, old man sprawled on the ground on the path she followed.

"Oh!" she exclaimed. "I…I'm sorry. I didn't mean to—."

The man coughed loudly, interrupting her. She had seemingly startled him awake and he wiped the sleep from his eyes. When he became more aware of her presence, he put on as warm a smile as he could muster.

"Water, dear girl," he mumbled. "Do you have water?"

Under layers of dirt and sun-baked skin, his face was kind. Her forehead wrinkled as she shook her head.

"I don't," she sputtered. "But if I find some…"

He put up his hand to stop her from continuing and nodded. She smiled weakly at him before turning her attention back to the robot up ahead. It maintained its steady path; back and forth across the path to the settlement. Yet now, its 'gaze' was fixed upon her.

A few more tentative steps forward and the persistent tone that spouted "Welcome to Megaton" and a few other odd catchphrases changed. As she came within what was most certainly a proximity function, the robot instructed her not to move as it assessed her level of threat. The process was quick and painless; she immediately heard the whirring of a motor and the grinding of metal as the main doors began to open. Her eyes were drawn to the massive pieces; there was no mistaking what the entrance was made of. The shapes were familiar from her books. The rusted wings and jet engine of some aircraft, crashed long ago were pieced together into the sturdy gate that kept unwanted guests from entering the settlement.

As the robot stepped to the side, she eyed it carefully. She was no stranger to such technology, but had only ever encountered Andy, the Type I Mister Handy model in the vault (why did she remember those silly details so often?). Andy was…temperamental, to say the least. It was likely a fine piece of equipment at its inception, but time has a way of breaking things down…making them unreliable…causing them to be forgotten.

_Just like the vault..._

But all that was in the past now. Ahead – in Megaton – she hoped, was her future.

Stepping across the threshold to the settlement, her eyes were drawn in every direction. There seemed to be no rhyme or reason for the construction of the catastrophe of homes and other assorted structures that made up Megaton. Jumbled metal…corrugated steel...remnants of old aircraft – scavenged materials recovered from the wasteland and forged into new buildings. Rickety walkways and stairs passed between the constructed pieces; though, some looked to be headed nowhere in particular.

Realizing her mouth was agape and her sudden appearance was drawing attention, she immediately headed towards the path to her right. Of course, the attention garnering could have been due to the bright blue jumpsuit with the shockingly yellow numbers '101' plastered to her back. It was evident that colour in this new alien world consisted of dirt, earth, rust and stone. She would certainly appear as an outsider so long as this was her attire of choice. The vault had no plans of taking her back, so there was no reason to hang on to such things. Even if she knew nothing of this world, she knew that a settlement like Megaton would have _some_ form of supply shop; all the cities did in the old books. Shopping used to be a hobby, even more than it was a necessity. A twinge of longing hit her in the gut unexpectedly. Longing for a place she'd never been…a time she'd never known… She closed her eyes to imagine it. When she opened them, she found herself looking at the nose of a plane; and above it, the word 'supply'. Exactly where she wanted to be. She hurried down towards the entrance and opened the door.

The smell of something familiar hit her nostrils, or perhaps it was simply the smell of an enclosed space again. The room she walked into was dimly lit – and quiet. For a moment.

"Welcome to Craterside Supply. We've probably got one of everything you'd ever be interested in. And you can have everything…for a price, of course."

For a price. Life in the vault was simple; everyone had a job and everyone was taken care of. There was no need for a currency, or even trade. It was intrinsic when a person was born into the vault. As long as everyone did his or her job, everything ran smoothly.

She turned quickly to see the slight young woman sweeping the floor beside the makeshift counter.

"I'm…looking for information, but…" Her eyes fell upon something on the wall. It was slightly modified, but most certainly a basic vault dwelling jumpsuit. A jumpsuit from the vault; _her_ vault.

"Where did you get that?"

"Who's asking?"

"Why don't you tell me your name first?" Two could play at this barter game.

The woman stood up straight, leaning the broom in her hand against the counter.

"Why, I'm Moira Brown," she declared before clearing her throat.

"Why do you talk that way?"

Moira stood taller, narrowing her eyes at the outsider.

"Just what is _that_ supposed to mean?" she asked.

"You just…don't sound like anyone I've ever spoken to before."

"If you must know," Moira pointed out, "_you're_ the one who sounds different. And anyway, you never told me what your name is."

She sniffed. "Tabitha."

Moira scrunched up her face. "What kind of a name is Tabitha?"

"It's my mother's middle name, if you must know."

"Oh. Well, I'm sure she's a lovely woman," Moira replied sheepishly.

"My mother is dead."

The two women stared at each other as the awkward silence enveloped them. Finally Moira broke her gaze and reached for her broom once more. She began to sweep the floor again, prompting Tabitha to spin around in an attempt to leave the store.

"There was a girl once," Moira began. "From the vault…just like you."

Tabitha turned back around to face her. "You know about the vault?"

"Of course I do," she replied with a satisfied smile. "Who do you think made that?" She motioned towards the jumpsuit on the wall. "In fact, I made it for her. But…she never returned."

"Wait a minute," she said, suspicion lacing her voice. "Someone…_left_ the vault? But I thought…"

"No one in…no one out?" Moira said. "Funny that I've heard that one before. Yet there seem to be more of you around these days."

"More of us?" she asked. "You mean…you've seen my father? Tell me. Tell me where he went."

Moira shook her head quickly. "Don't get your hopes up, kid. I don't know anything about what he was doing here. I just saw the telltale jumpsuit."

"But you _must_ know something!"

"Yeah," Moira said. "I know enough to stay out of other people's business."

Tabitha's face drooped.

"Look, kid," she said. "He went down to Moriarty's…the saloon. Keep walking that way and you'll find it eventually. But that's _all_ I know."

"Thank you Moira," she replied quickly. She turned to hurry off to the saloon, but Moira stopped her.

"Wait," she said. "Before you go, can I ask you a favour?"

"Of course."

"Could you…tell me a bit about living in the vault?" she asked. "You see, I'm writing a book and…"

"You're writing a book?" Tabitha asked. "People…still write books?"

"Well, now. I don't know about all that. But _I'm_ writing a book. And I could use some help with it. Interested?"

Tabitha's eyes lit up. Moira knew in that instant that she had hooked the interest of this closet intellectual. From here on out, this outsider, this former vault dweller…this lost young woman would help her however she could.

Before Tabitha left Moira to tend to her shop, the two women spoke on her plans and hopes for the book. They discussed living in the vault and her first thoughts of the world outside. And by the end of it all, she had agreed to assist her with another task. But most importantly, Moira presented her with the modified jumpsuit. An extra layer of protection would be worth its weight in caps – caps that Tabitha didn't have.

_Information for a jumpsuit and a lead on my father's whereabouts,_ she thought to herself. _There is definitely something to this whole trading system._


End file.
